Stockholm Syndrome
by Stanislas Cordova
Summary: 25 years after J.D's death, Veronica Sawyer is back in Ohio. After having a traumatic high school experience, Veronica vowed to keep her daughter as far away as possible from danger. But instead 17 year old Ellis Sawyer becomes intertwined with a series of murders involving young women named Heather, an alluring arch-nemesis and a lethal attraction all her own.
1. Chapter 1

I was never a fan of cop shows. Or crime movies. Give me a paperback murder-mystery thriller and I'll devour it in a day but I wouldn't choose one out for myself, that's for sure. The thing is; I'm surrounded by "justice" every waking moment. I practically live at the police station. I'm no juvenile delinquent; in fact my track-record is spotless. Pristine, really. I wouldn't call myself a stickler for the rules. I'm just not some thrill-seeking troublemaker. I suppose if your mother is the head chief-of-police, it comes naturally.

I never knew my father. Or met him. Technically, he was never my father then really. He and Mom never married. He's basically just the "sperm giver". He never gave much more than that, seeing as I am an only child. Mom says he left before I was even born. I don't know anything about him, not even his name. I don't care really. I do wonder what he looks like though, since I don't look much like my mother. She's a real looker, especially for someone of her age. I don't have low self-esteem or anything, but I do know my mother is prettier than me by a long-shot.

Anyway, about my father. All I know about him is that he was trouble with a capital T. Something Mom said she was always attracted to at my age, which explains the strict parole watch on any date I've ever had. Literally. She'll get one of the rookies to follow us to the movies. Extremely embarrassing. It's no wonder why I stay home a lot.

She doesn't admit but I think The Donor, or some other jerk she dated, is the reason why she decided to be a cop. She doesn't have some innate sense of justice. No. Something much more extravagant has been fueling her all these years to track 'em, catch 'em and book 'em. Perhaps, rage. Passion.

Or Revenge.

* * *

"Afternoon Miss Sawyer," Wade, the desk clerk, says, "Don't you ever get tired spending all your time here? Why, a police station is no place for a teenager to be hanging out in!"

I laugh, "Try telling my mom that, Wade. Speaking of Mom, did she leave me anything to do?"

The school year doesn't start for few more weeks so to keep my summer productive my mother assigns me some "police-in-training" work to do. They're nothing more than Nancy Drew mysteries. Who-dun-its to put it frank. Not actual cases but just brain teasers that will prepare me for my "future". I haven't figured out a way to break it to her yet, but sleuthing isn't for me. The only reason why I'm always at the station is because I have no where else to go. Staying home alone 24/7 may sound appealing to most but not me. I have an aching suspicion that home security isn't the only thing watching me. I'm not accusing my mom of spying on me but she has to admit she takes the whole safety thing a little too far.

There's the library, which I like. But a girl can only spend so much time in complete silence before she goes little nuts. I'm used to loud noises. Lots of talking. A busy city. It's a wonder why Mom decided to transfer to Cleveland rather than Chicago.

The police station isn't my first choice to spend most of my summer vacation at but it feels more like home than my actual house does.

"Actually, there is something you can help us out with," Wade says, "Follow me."

Wade snatches a manila folder, walks around his desk and leads me down the hall and into the main lobby. We stop near my mother's office. There's a boy, about my age or older, sitting next to the door.

"Him," Wade says matter-of-factly,"He's your next case."

"Excuse me? What am I supposed to do with a person?"

"Profile him. That right there is Mr. Clyde Wiley, age seventeen," he hands me the manila folder, "He's part of the new troubled youth outreach program. These kids are assigned to live with an officer for an entire school year. They scare them out of their delinquent ways and hopefully guide them into being future force members."

I flip through the file. It's about as long as Crime and Punishment (which ironically is my AP summer reading).

"So, which lucky bastard gets stuck with him?" I ask.

Wade shrugs, "I don't know, the chief didn't tell me. But she did say she wants you to get as much information on him as possible and conduct a report to give the officer assigned to him."

"Sure, why not?" I joke," Maybe I'll make a new friend!"

Wade smiles,"That's the spirit!"

I let him walk away. I didn't have the heart tell him that I am not a friendly person.

* * *

I spent the lunch hour wafting through Wiley's file. His mother was in a fatal train accident when he was ten. Two years prior to his first crime. He attended a private boarding school his junior year but was kicked out after making an ordained minister cry. Amazingly, his transcript has maintained a solid 3.0 all three years of high school.

From where I'm sitting, Wiley can't see me but I can see him. I give him a once (maybe twice) over. Tall, lean, dark brown hair and a crooked grin that's almost stuck in a perpetual smirk. I can see the confidence oozing out of him from over here. This will be at least ten times harder than the little riddles I've been solving for a while now. Sure, I enjoy a challenge but not if it involves making conversation with people my own age.

I glance over the file once more, collecting any last minute information I need and then I approach him.

"I'm Ellis Sawyer," I stick out my hand.

"Clyde Wiley," his grip is a little too tight but I ignore it," But I'm guessing you already know that."

"Destructive and deductive," I patronize, "Mind if I ask a few questions?"

He grins (which again unsettles me),"Not if I get to ask a few of my own."

"Deal. Follow me."

I lead him back to "my desk" which is actually Winston's. He's mom's partner, so he's out of town too. He doesn't mind me using his computer as long as I log into the guest account. He claims he's afraid I'll accidentally delete an important file, but I've checked his browser history before. I know what he's really hiding.

"So, what are you?" He leans back in his chair, "A reporter for the school newspaper?"

"A girl scout," I flip through his file, "Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

"Indecent exposure," he chuckles, "Care for a live recap?"

I decide to humor him. I take out a small camera from my Winston's drawer (something else I'm not supposed to go through) and turn it on.

"I'm ready when you are," I say as I mess with the zoom.

He shakes his head," Alright, alright. I'm here for some outreach program for shit teenagers. I mean _troubled youth."_

He takes out a pack of camels and asks," Alright if I smoke?"

All for show. The kid is a James Dean wannabe and probably stole that pack from the 7/11 nearby. Two puffs and he'd probably have an asthma attack.

"Seeing that your twelve months away from the legal smoking age and that this is a _police station_, I'm going to go with no, it's not alright."

"What, you don't like the smell? What about the taste?" he licks his lips

"Yeah, cancer really turns me on," I deadpan.

I grab a red pen and jot down notes on a legal pad. He has Mommy issues, abusive alcoholic father, trouble with authority and a hard time making new friends.

"You were kicked out of your last school?"

"Yep. St. Peter's Catholic Academy," he says, "It's a great place to go if you don't believe in God."

I smirk," Be thankful they didn't call you a witch and burn you at the stake."

"You'd be surprised at what those nuns would do. I'm still sore from all the bibles they've pelted me with."

"What school are you attending this year?"

He shrugs, "Some remedial school for delinquents like me."

Thank God, he's not attending my school. I feel an immediate relief wash over me. I'll type this bad boy up, hand it to his unfortunate new officer and be on my merry way.

"What officer are you assigned to?" I ask without looking up.

"The head honcho. Chief whats-his-name."

Oh. Hell. No.

Isn't that the kind of information you tell your daughter in advance? How hard is that to write on a sticky note or even a text message? "Dear Ellis, I'll be out of town for two days. There are frozen pancakes in the freezer. Love, Mom. P.S: I'm letting a strange boy live with us for a year."

No wonder she assigned me to profile him! He'll be shacking up across the hall from me hours from now. If this is one of those "can you adapt to a new situation?!" tests I will fail miserably.

"Actually," I drop the pen," The Chief is a woman."

He raises his eyebrows," Oh? Is she hot?"

Sick bastard. I really, really can't stand teenage boys. "She's forty-two and will kick your ass."

I don't even bother typing of the report. I grab the pen and scribble "NO WAY, MOM" on the bottom.

"Thank you for your time," I say behind clenched teeth," You may leave."

He gets ups, winks and mouths the words "call me" before walking away.

I'll be calling him from the living room if I don't convince my mother another way. I call her from Winston's phone and she picks up on the fourth ring.

"Ellis, is that you?" I hear a lot of commotion in the background, "I am very, very busy right now. This better be important."

"Oh, it is. How could you not tell me that you're letting a young Jeffrey Dahmer to live with us?"

Silence. A loud sigh. She finally says," First of all Jeffery Dahmer was a cannibal, not a teenager with a spray can. Second...it was an impulse."

_An impulse?_ "You just just had the sudden urge to let a convict sleep in our guest room?"

"They gave me the folder of all the teens in the program and Wiley, well, he just...reminded me of someone," she murmurs, "Someone I don't want this kid to end up like."

I concur," Are you sure this is a good idea, Mom?"

She laughs, "No, but we'll find that out soon enough!"

I laugh too, "Are you coming back soon?"

I hear mayhem in the background and Mom tells someone," This is bad."

A loud shuffle and she's back on the phone, "I'll be back at the station as soon as possible. Do not leave until I get there, do you understand?"

She sounds frantic and I begin to worry, "Mom, are you okay? What's going on?"

The phone clicks, the dial tone resonates and she's gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: I apologize for not writing in such a long time! I've been really busy with school but I'll try my best to write more often. Thanks for reading and reviews are always appreciated :) _

Chapter 2

Whenever I meet somebody I always time to see how long they keep eye contact. It says a lot about a person. Shy, introverted people never truly make eye contact at all; they just stare at the bridge of your nose. Someone who is nervous or uncomfortable looks away every few seconds, maybe they point to something or make a big deal of looking around, anything that will give them an excuse to not look into your eyes. But even the most confident, popular kids in class could never hold eye contact longer than five seconds with me.

Then there's Clyde Wiley. After my mother hung up the phone we've been sitting across each other in silence. It's been almost an hour and besides blinking the boy hasn't broken eye contact once. It's as if he has no shame, no guilt and absolutely nothing to hide at all. I know it's an act. Nobody is an open book. Not me, not my mother and especially not Wiley.

"You have pretty eyes," he whispers, suddenly.

However odd it sounded coming out of his mouth, this doesn't faze me. My eyes are a sharp ice blue that only intensifies my unapproachable demeanor.

"I know," I reply, unsmiling.

He smirks but he doesn't break eye contact. I wonder if he can see the book nerd through my bad-bitch facade.

Suddenly Wade taps me on the shoulder and I turn to see my mother and Winston walking through the doors. I quickly push in the chair to Winston's desk and run up to Mom. She's on the phone and I catch the last few words before she hangs up.

"This definitely wasn't a coincidence. No, it's- I have to go," she ends the call, shoves her phone in her pocket and looks up at me," Ellis. How are you feeling?"

"Uh, strangely calm I guess. What's going on?"

She doesn't look at my eyes. She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out her car keys.

"Drive home, I'm going to pull an all-nighter."

"Um, okay," my eyes shift toward Wiley," What about him?"

It sounded like she said to take him with me, so I had her repeat it. Twice

"Mom, that's the worst idea I have ever heard! What if he sets the house on fire? What if he tries to crazy murder me? What if he pressures me into sexual intercourse?"

"We have smoke detectors, you're a black belt in judo, you had the "just say no" speech, right? You'll be fine. No arguing, Ellis. I mean it."

I sigh. When Chief Veronica Sawyer says she means it I know there's no use arguing. I begrudgingly grab her keys and walk over to Wiley (who by the way never broke eye contact even while I was talking to my mother. Creeper).

"Let's go, punk. We're leaving."

He gets up and without missing a beat he quips," Your place or mine?"

Walking in front of him I grumble," Both".


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: No, JD is not Ellis's father. Yes, I know that would be impossible. In the first chapter Ellis states that she suspects either her own father or somebody in Veronica's life inspired her to catch the bad guys. Anyway, thanks for reading and reviews are always appreciated! _

I've never been the type of girl a guy would bring home to meet his parents. His sister, if we were to ever meet, would dislike me upon first handshake and the moment after I leave she would not-so-subtly suggest to him to stop seeing me. I don't have punker piercings, tatts or bitchy-blue hair. It has nothing to do with my apperance, my politics, my family or financial status. It's the moment I introduce myself; my pale-white handshake pinches their flesh, a grin oozes slowly across my face until I open my mouth, exhibiting two rows of sharp, pin-straight teeth and I declare "I've been dying to meet you".

* * *

When we arrive to my (now our) house I, slightly paranoid, make sure Wiley stays in front of me, even as I unlock the door. I give him a tour, sans my room, and shove him into the guest bedroom. And because I'm not an idiot I won't take a shower untill Mom comes home and I won't sleep unless I hear him snoring. So, I'm in bed reading In Cold Blood (Wade gave it to me) while still carefully listening to any possible signs of danger. I left the door open just to be sure.

By midnight I have a twisting feeling in my gut and it has nothing to do with Truman Capote. It has to do with 1) Mom not being home yet and me having no idea why and 2) It's been a few hours and Wiley hasn't made a single sound. The thought takes a moment to sink in before I drop my book and run to the guest room.

Without knocking I swing open the door to find an untouched bed and open window. I search the entire house twice (under tables, inside the closets, the backyard) to no avail. He's gone.

My mother must be stressed enough with this mystery case that I decide to let her know that I lost a possible criminal tomorrow morning. I shut the window in the guest room and, as an afterthought, lock it. He'll have to ring the doorbell to get back in now. Now, I wait.

* * *

I don't remember falling asleep but at four a.m I wake up from the couch to the kitchen phone ringing. It's Mom.

"Ellis, I need you to drive to the station immediately," she tries to cover it up, but I detect a sense of urgency in her voice.

"Okay," I look around for the car keys,"But why?"

"I don't want to alarm you. But another, um, accident just happened."

I'm on the floor of my room, searching for the keys while trying to listen to her. I pat around my clothes but the keys aren't to be found.

"It occured a few yards from our house," she adds.

Oh. Fuck.

I sprint outside to the driveway and sure enough the car is gone. After the panic washes over, I realize the phone is still in my hand.

"Hey, Mom?" I steady my voice," I think I know who your lead suspect is."


End file.
